


Topsy-Turvy

by Hekate1308



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25875505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: Morse had become their resident magic expert because… well, because he was the only one in the station who had any powers.It was one of the reason Peter had slowly and reluctantly come to respect the man; after all, whenever a magical crisis presented itself, it was a good thing to have someone you could ask what the bloody hell was going on.Today, he knew immediately upon waking that they would have to consult him again.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse & Fred Thursday, Peter Jakes & Endeavour Morse
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Topsy-Turvy

**Author's Note:**

> I realized I just couldn't let my birthday pass without another Endeavour Magical Realism story XD. Enjoy!

Morse had become their resident magic expert because… well, because he was the only one in the station who had any powers.

It was one of the reason Peter had slowly and reluctantly come to respect the man; after all, whenever a magical crisis presented itself, it was a good thing to have someone you could ask what the bloody hell was going on.

Today, he knew immediately upon waking that they would have to consult him again.

Because something was wrong. He couldn’t tell what, or even how he knew, but something was _wrong_.

He had never felt that unenthusiastic about going to work, for one thing.

No; that wasn’t it; he’d never been so adamant that he didn’t want to leave his flat.

What was going on? He even had to force himself to put on a suit because all he wanted to wear was that one comfortable sweater that surrounded him with warmth, kept him safe –

With a shaking hand he lit a cigarette.

Magic. Had to be. No other explanation. Poisons didn’t work that way, and he’d had a few good months – maybe even the best of his life.

So magic it was.

And, he told himself firmly, to find out about magic, he needed to speak to Morse, so he had to go to work.

Eventually he managed to talk himself into it.

* * *

It wasn’t just him, he quickly realized as he made his way to the station.

The entire city felt… different. There were people laughing and shouting in the streets, others huddling in corners, even if most were remarkably civil.

Something was most definitely afoot.

Morse was probably already working on it, he decided; he had to have realized too. If someone like Peter could tell…

But the younger man was quietly typing at his desk when he entered the squad room, giving every indication that he hadn’t noticed anything was amiss.

He raised his head and greeted Peter politely, but that was it.

He sat down at his own desk and studied him. No, it wasn’t just himself and the city.

Morse had changed, too. For one, he was actually wearing a nice suit for once, and he’d combed his hair. And was that a matching handkerchief in his breastpocket?

There were other things, too. He was typing much faster than usual and looked…

Well –

Morse looked _good_ , not the thin shadow Peter remembered so clearly from yesterday.

Maybe he’d found a new bird? But not even the Goddess of Love herself could have managed all of _that_ in twenty-four hours.

 _Alright. Think. Breathe. You can do this_. “Say, Morse” he said casually, “felt anything wrong with your magic lately?”

He didn’t react and Peter frowned. He might not have liked him much, but he usually reacted when he asked him a question. “Morse?”

Again, nothing.

“Morse!” he got up and walked over to him. “I’m talking to you!”

He looked up, apparently puzzled. “You were?”

“Yes. Said your name, didn’t I?”

And then all his theories were made obsolete by Morse simply answering, “You didn’t.”

* * *

_Alright, calm down. Magic is fickle; he doesn’t know he’s been affected. Make it out to be the other way round. Give Morse a puzzle. He can never resist that._

“I think” he said carefully “I have been targeted by a magic user.”

He sounded more vulnerable than he would have liked, and even lighting another cigarette did nothing to help.

It was then simply taken out of his fingers. “I don’t think that would do you any good right now” Morse said, but not in a condescending way; no, there was something gentle about his smile, a smile Peter had seen before, although never on _this_ face, he was sure of it. “Breathe, Peter”. Since when were they on a first-name basis? “Now, let’s start at the beginning… what do you think my name is?”

Belatedly he realized he had never learned Morse’s first name, but had seen his initial. “E….” he began, unsure.

“That’s right. Endeavour.”

_Endeavour?_

“Morse?” he tried again, but he shook his head.

“Let’s have a cup of tea”.

“What about your reports? DI Thursday…”

Now his smile turned mischievous. “I have a feeling he will understand.”

* * *

Strange came in as Morse (whatever he called himself) brought over the cups and apparently decided he didn’t want to mess with the situation. Peter took comfort in the fact that he, at least, appeared unchanged.

“Alright, I have no idea who Morse is, or how or why anyone convinced you that was my name” the younger officer told Peter as he cradled his cup ion his hands, “But first things first.”

Peter took a sip only to thoroughly regret it when he tried to swallow and Morse continued, “I’m Sergeant Endeavour Thursday, DI Thursday’s oldest son.”

* * *

“I think it’s safe to say” Morse – Thursday – said dryly when he was done patting Peter’s back and the coughing fit had subsided “That you didn’t expect that.”

“No” he admitted.

“So you think my name is Morse. Anything else?”

And, somehow, Peter found himself looking into that open, undaunted expression he’d slowly watched drain from Morse’s face over the years and told him how he’d been feeling off, and how the city didn’t seem… right.

When he was done, Morse frowned. “That sounds serious. Jim” he called over, “Have you noticed anything amiss?”

“What about?”

“Just in general.”

“Folks have been very active this morning” he replied, strolling over. “What’s this about?”

“What’s my name? Or have you forgotten?” Morse asked him.

He grinned. “Would be a challenge to do that matey. Remember when I was the only one at the Academy who didn’t get you were the Old Man’s son?”

Morse grinned back. “Oh yes. It was great fun.” He turned to Peter. “I should contact the Council; they are bound to have noticed, if anything is going on –“

“What is supposed to be going on?” DI Thursday, who’d snuck up on them without any of them noticing, asked.

“Peter here says he’s being targeted by magic, and it might be something bigger, Dad.”

“Hm”. He studied him not as the DI he remembered, but as someone who had a child who had magic and therefore considerable experience when it came to such things. “A little pale, aren’t you, Sergeant.”

“Haven’t felt like myself since I woke up this morning, sir” he confirmed, hating how weak and tired he sounded.

Morse patted his shoulder. “There, there. Whatever it is, it can’t be very malignant; you wouldn’t be able to walk, then. Now, how about I give you my sandwich to get your strength up?”

That was where he had seen his comforting smile, Peter realized. Mrs. Thursday.

“Mum’ll have your hide if you skip lunch. Son.”

“I’ll order something at the pub” he replied simply while presenting Peter with a sandwich.

“Thank you” he replied somewhat helplessly, remembering the twig of a man who would only ever consume a liquid lunch, these days.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll get to my contacts, see if there are many other cases, like Jim suggests…”

And he all but skipped over to the phone.

“Don’t worry, Jakes” Thursday said with more warmth than he was used to – he suspected that, now that he saw Morse as his son the place for another one Morse had originally filled was wide open. “You know Endeavour, he’ll figure it out.”

He couldn’t have sounded prouder if this had all been true.

And then Peter suddenly realized that he had no idea whether what he remembered even _was_ true. If he was indeed affected by magic, couldn’t his memories have been altered too? And wasn’t it much more logical that the guy who had magic was better protected than he was? What if he just _thought_ he knew about that strange constable/now sergeant who had any way been closer to DI Thursday than a bagman had any reason to be.

God this was confusing.

He did eat the sandwich, if only to placate the – Thursdays, then got up. Mo – Thurs – Endeavour ( _and what kind of name was that!?_ ) was still busy on the phone, but there was someone else in this station who had at least a rudimentary knowledge of magic.

And so he told Strange he would go to see Doctor DeBryn.

* * *

“Let me recap what you just told me, Sergeant” DeBryn said slowly. “You are utterly convinced that Sergeant Thursday is not, in fact, DI Thursday’s oldest son, but a young friendless and slightly eccentric constable called Morse.”

When he put it like that, it made Peter almost feel bad to think of him that way.

“And also that your own personality has changed?”

“I – I’m scared of _everything_!” he blurted out. “I almost didn’t manage to leave my flat today! I just want to hide from the world!”

Before he’d said it, he hadn’t even been aware that he could put it that simply.

“Alright” Doctor DeBryn said, almost gently, “And you weren’t before?”

The way he voiced the question made Peter frown. “No!”

“I have always thought, and pardon me if I am incorrect, that you wore your heart on your sleeve, Sergeant.”

Now he couldn’t help it; he laughed.

“Alright so you obviously don’t agree.” DeBryn hummed. “Well, in that case –“

But at this moment Mo – _Endeavour_ arrived, looking worried. “Jim told me you were here. Max, you should come to. I have just spoken to the hospital, and the numbers just keep adding up.”

“What numbers?”

He sighed. “It seems like the healers soon won’t be able to keep up with the magical ailments people have.”

* * *

“Well” he explained once they were all assembled in the squad room, “Not ailments per se, not in the way you’d normally think. Some have physical symptoms, but most experience the same feeling of things being _different_ than Peter here. Those who have been known to be kind snapping at others et cetera.”

“Everything upside down, perhaps?” Strange suggested, but Peter knew that it couldn’t be that; if that had been the case, Morse and the Old Man would have been sniping at each other instead of parading around as father and son.

Even said _sergeant_ was shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Turning everyone into the opposite of what they truly are would be extremely difficult. I hate to say it” he said quietly, shooting Peter a glance, “But right now, we can’t be sure of anything.”

* * *

He tried to get Morse alone all morning but never quite managed it. As a matter of fact, by the time lunch rolled around, he would have been ready to bet that he was actually avoiding him.

Then again, maybe he was just being paranoid. After all, there was nothing even suggesting in his memories of a slightly antagonistic relationship that Morse would avoid him, and Endeavour seemed to think they were friends.

God, this was all so bloody confusing.

As time passed, reports of incidents filtered in. As it turned out, former law-abiding citizens thought nothing of stealing things now, or worse.

So perhaps Endeavour was just busy. After all, he had magic and so he was usually called in for these cases. Today, of course, the others, even Peter, all helped out, even if he had never even been able to bend a spoon.

“Sergeant… Jakes” the proprietor of the magic shop said after studying his badge “I was expecting Sergeant Thursday, but I understand he must be otherwise engaged.”

“He is. Much to do.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Of course.”

“So how many of your customers you said have been behaving oddly?”

“My regulars… well, all of them. Mostly because I know them, so I know Mrs. Whitlow would never swear, or that Toby Nod wouldn’t try and pickpocket, or that –“

“I get the picture” he hastened to say, “But could you please talk a little slower, sir? I need to write this down.”

He hated feeling so insecure. He remembered being – well, yes, still somewhat scared, but being able to hide that fact, even from himself, unless you counted that terrible night when Thursday had gone off to Blenheim Vale and he had been unable to assist Morse…

“Of course.“

And Peter took down the names.

* * *

It soon transpired it was all the same. People had no idea why they were acting and feeling like this, and some of them were more vocal about it than others.

“It’s a bloody nightmare!” Mrs. Whitlow exclaimed. “Almost seventy years of never saying a singly bloody bad word, and now I’m swearing like a sailor –“

Personally, Peter couldn’t help but think her predicament a little bit funny but was careful not to mention it.

“And you’re saying I’m not the fucking only one?”

He bit his lips so she wouldn’t notice he was fighting off a smile and nodded. “Yes. Sergeant Mo- Thursday thinks that it might have to do –“

“Oh, that _dear_ boy! How is he doing? Me and his mother are on the board of the Families of Magic Users, you know.”

Just as he’d thought today couldn’t get any more bizarre.

* * *

“That are over fifty instances in a day” Mo – Endeavour finally told no one in particular later that afternoon.

They were almost alone in the squad room, DI Thursday briefing Superintendent Bright and Trewlove and Strange off to collect more statements.

“Well” he suddenly added. “Fifty-three to be precise. Or” he hesitated, then shot Peter a glance. “Fifty-four.”

“You can include me, I don’t mind.”

“I meant my own case, Peter.”

He looked and sounded much older than his years.

Peter swallowed.

“What’s going on? Please.”

And as he looked at him with more trust in his eyes than he ever had, Peter couldn’t bring himself to lie to him.

Not even to keep him from pain.

* * *

All things considered, he took it well.

Or maybe he was just in shock.

But, after Peter had finished his hasty explanation, he slowly walked over to his desk and sat down, only to calmly continuing going through the reports as if nothing was wrong.

“Endeavour?” he eventually tried after a minute or two.

He raised his head. “Part of me knew” he admitted quietly. “Part of me… felt even as we had family breakfast today that I didn’t deserve to be part of it.”

“That’s not true” he said automatically because – well, it wasn’t. If anyone deserved to be spontaneously part of the Old Man’s family, it was the one guy who’d come running when he’d been in danger in Blenheim…

* * *

“Peter?”

A hand on his back, rubbing circles.

“You need to take a few deep breaths, can you do that for me?”

He somehow did. “What –“

“You shouldn’t talk; just concentrate on your breathing for now. I’m no expert, but I think you just had a panic attack.”

Wonderful. Because things had been going so well already.

“Something must have triggered this.”

Endeavour, he realized, was, in many ways… more _open_ than Morse. He didn’t doubt that the colleague he actually knew would have been concerned to; but he’d never have shown it so willingly.

“I was thinking of – thinking of – “ he swallowed and forced the words out “Blen-“

“I should have known. I understand.”

Peter shook his head. “Normally I can… compartmentalize.”

Wen she saw Endeavour’s sceptical expression he added “Really.”

“In that case, it’s probably to do with the magic. I’ll make a note. After I make us a cuppa.”

“That’s not –“

“With _lots_ of sugar. For the shock.”

The words that this was something he must have learned form his mother were at the tip of his tongue, but he managed not to say them out loud. God only knew how Endeavour truly felt about all of this.

* * *

DI Thursday, regrettably, had to be informed.

“And how are you now?”

“I’m better, sir.”

He was clearly sceptical, but had no choice but to accept his explanation.

“I am starting to think the magic we’re talking of is acting as an… amplifier of sorts, at least in some cases” Endeavours said carefully.

“Also plays around with people’s minds” DI Thursday supplied and it gave Peter a pang to realize that he still considered him the confused one, instead of them.

Endeavour’s hand shook ever so lightly as he put another piece of paper on the blackboard.

Poor guy, learning what it felt like to have a loving family, only for it to be ripped from him again.

Peter had never truly hated Morse. Yes, he’d found him profoundly irritating and downright annoying, but he’d always respected his mind, and over time he’d come to understand him much better. And so, it was with honest regret that he studied him now.

Granted, there was a bit of envy, and jealousy there as well – how come he got to be a shivering mess and Morse ended up with the Thursdays? It just wasn’t _fair_.

But then, his life had never been exactly fair, so why should it start now?

He looked down at his desk and sighed, only to jump when a cup of tea was placed in front of him.

“Lots of sugar” Morse told him gently with an expression Peter had sometimes seen on Mrs. Thursday’s face.

Really, Morse fit so well with the Thursdays, if it hadn’t been for this feeling of wrongness, Peter himself would have found no problems in simply accepting the fact and moving on.

But the entire city behaving oddly…

No, that wasn’t right, was it? Some things had changed, some people were behaving in ways they never would otherwise, but others were perfectly normal. Really, Thursday had always looked out so much for Morse that him being his father scarcely made a difference, and Strange was his usual dependable self; and what Peter had seen of Trewlove also proved her to be unaffected, just like Doctor DeBryn.

As he raised his head to thank Morse, he was struck by an idea.

All those people, himself included… it was as if… as if something that had been long repressed had come out to hunt them, right? Here he was, failing at simply keeping his emotions and memories I check even though he had years of practice; Mrs. Whitlow had suddenly realized that she wasn’t as complacent as she had always believed; and Morse and The Old Man…

Even now, he could see DI Thursday come up to them to check up on his boy.

Yes.

Whether they would ever have admitted it or not, they had always been more than just a DI and his bagman – and whatever magic had been used had just made that obvious, had run with it and turned it into a reality, while Peter was struggling to keep it together.

But exactly because of that, he now knew what no one else did.

For some reason, he stayed silent.

* * *

That reason became obvious later in the day. Peter, plagued by a headache and at all times just a second away from starting to shake as badly as this morning, had been told – ordered by Thursday to go to his office “And put his head down a bit.”

Morse had been rather enthusiastic about it as well, and it had taken Peter a moment to realize that this was not due to pity, but to honest and warm compassion. “I’ll work on it” he’d promised quietly under his breath, his eyes shining with pain at having to lea all of this behind.

God, this was complicated.

Against all expectations, he actually managed to doze off on the sofa in Thursday’s office that he now clearly remembered had been put there after Morse had been slashed at and had dearly needed some rest and Mrs. Thursday had gotten involved; apparently, not even Superintendent Bright could say no to her.

And then they came, or rather, he heard the voices.

_Peter Jakes_

He didn’t know here he was, everything was surrounded by fog.

Peter Jakes.

 **Yes**? He finally managed to ask, although not with his voice. No; this was his true voice, the one he heard inside his head.

_Things are out of balance._

**You can say that again** , he thought before he could stop himself, and to his surprise was rewarded with soft laughter.

_It is the first of May, Peter Jakes._

Yes, he knew. But what did that matter? Sure, there were the stories…

The stories.

But certainly, this was ridiculous? The Veil between the Other World and the world of the humans thinning, letting things and magic through… old magic, negative magic…

There had been no cases in over a century, though.

And yet... wouldn’t that explain that not even Morse had thought of it?

_The Veil has been thinning for some time. Because of this, more magic is seeping through. And it is causing havoc. But not all of us want that, Peter Jakes._

He’d never been able to understand it all, the magic and the mayhem. He’d had enough problems, growing up; he hadn’t had time to research all of --- that. But certainly, it was only logical that there were good… creatures? Was that the word? Out there as well, wasn’t it? Not everything could be bad.

If there were even good and bad… creatures in the human sense of the word.

It didn’t matter that he was asleep, he could still feel his headache coming back.

 **What do you want, then?** He finally dared to ask.

_We want balance. The balance has been on the side of the humans for too long; that’s why magic is overreacting this way._

**But there are humans with magic** , he argued. **Surely, if they knew…**

And how are they supposed to learn?

He had no answer to that question. So how do we fix this? He demanded instead.

_It won’t be easy, Peter Jakes. Magic gives one great power, but it asks for sacrifices too._

Of he’d had any power over his throat, he would have swallowed at the word sacrifices. Before he could stop himself, he’d asked, **why me?**

_Because we can get into contact with you. Some humans…_

She – for some reason, he was certain it was a female he was talking to – didn’t have to go into any details.

_We might have been able to talk to the one called Morse before as well, but that was before. He’s too happy now._

How very ironic.

 **So what do I have to do?** He asked. In the end, he didn’t really have a choice, did he? He was the one they could talk to, the one they could warn. And someone had to do something.

He just really wished that someone hadn’t had to be him, of all people.

What did he know about magic, anyhow?

_Don’t you know your stories, Peter Jakes?_

Of course he did. Of course he bloody did. Stories was all they’d had to cling to in Blenheim Vale, stories of magic and heroes and adventures…

**Of course. The Chosen One, huh?**

_In a way, yes. You are the Chosen One for this particular day._

**Oh nice, a whole day.**

A pause in which he rather got the impression that he was being judged.

**I didn’t –**

_We are aware humans think differently than we do, Peter Jakes._

That too – the importance of names. Small wonder they kept repeating his, almost like a prayer.

_There have to be those who can create a proper balance – so things like this will not happen again. And one of your colleagues has magic._

Once more, he felt irritated at Morse – as if he had always been only a side character in his story.

_Only he hasn’t learned much magic, not even now. And he needs to._

**Are you saying you want to change the course of his life?**

_We are saying we have to trust magic, Peter Jakes. In this case, we have to trust magic._

He waited for her to continue, and thankfully, she did.

_Come to St. Michael tonight at one am, when the moonlight touches the bell tower. Come alone. This is imperative, Peter Jakes._

He woke up.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed with more reports, and more and more proof of their inability to do anything. Morse – _Endeavour Thursday_ did his best to keep everything running, mostly with Trewlove’s help, but at the end of the day, Peter knew he would have to obey, no matter what magic would do to him.

And so, at six pm, he bid his colleagues good night and left.

Only to hear his name be called out by the very man he never seemed to eb able to escape, these days.

When he turned around, Mo – Endeavour hurried towards him and his heart sank as he saw his expression.

He’d figured out he was going to do something, God only knew how.

Probably a while ago.

And then, a silent struggle – and he’d lost.

For Peter knew that hopelessness in people’s eyes.

He was going to come beg him not to take his family away.

And for the first time that day, it was Peter who felt pity. Of course he didn’t want to give up the Thursdays, but even he, who knew next to nothing about magic, was aware that they wouldn’t be able to just pick and juice.

“I –“ Endeavour closed his eyes, swallowed, then relaxed his face into an expression Peter recognized – it was Morse’s; Morse’s when he didn’t want to show his emotions. “Forget it. I was being – unfair.”

“No” he told him honestly, “No you weren’t.”

Endeavour apparently wanted to say something else, but then simply nodded and left, presumably to enjoy family dinner as long as he still had his family.

Peter went to his place and waited, hoping that things wouldn’t take a turn for the worse until one am.

* * *

They apparently hadn’t, and so he was on his way to the church, remembering a wild chase for a young girl and Morse being slashed at.

He wondered if this had taken place in this world too, or not, and then he realized that it didn’t matter.

He didn’t have to wait long. The chimes rang out the hour, and suddenly, there she was.

She was really quite beautiful, when you thought about it, but Peter don’t have the luxury to do so. With magic like this – with the imbalance, as she had more or less put it – he would have to act quickly.

“What must I do?”

“Comply, Peter Jakes” was the simple answer. “To fix this a sacrifice has to be made.”

“And what –“

“Your life.”

It was so easily said, almost carelessly, and he felt dizzy as he leaned against the wall.

_Your life._

His life for all of Oxford.

In the end, there was nothing he could do, was here? He was the Chosen One – for today. That was what she had meant.

Today because there would be no other days.

But sometimes, there was nothing one could do.

And so, he took a deep breath and, before he could think about this and stop himself, quickly said, “I comply.”

He thought he saw her smiling before everything turned black.

* * *

_The Others had never thought or felt like humans, and so they had never realized certain things._

_For example, that some humans might have magic without realizing it; and that even upon communicating with The Others, the thought might never cross their minds._

_Or that giving your life had other connotations for humans than for them._

_For example… The Others would never feel the need to point out that giving a human life didn’t mean there’d be no other given in return._

_Also, a man would probably have told the Chosen One of the day something else – mainly, that magic had a way to look after its own; and that therefore it knew to make sure that a few things turned out rather differently than they would have._

_Let us just imagine: that a young boy with magic and a loving family should be more encouraged by them to learn as much about it as he could, and grow up to endeavour to heal the divide between magic users and non-magic users._

_Or that, because he once met a slightly older boy in the park, who proceeded to confess to him just how horribly he was being treated, the father of the younger would make sure that that horrible place was closed and all the boys found a good home._

_Yes, a_ man _would probably have pointed that out._

* * *

 _Nudge_.

He didn’t look up, feeling his best friend’s familiar magic wanting to engage with his own.

Nudge. Nudge. _Nudge_.

_Not today, buddy._

Nudge nudge nudge nudge nudge nudge nudge –

“Endeavour! I am working on a report for your father! And shouldn’t you be at the Guard’s –“

He stopped when he saw the sandwich floating in front of his face and sighed.

“Your own fault. Shouldn’t have looked so thin when you came by to pick him up yesterday.”

“I had forgotten to eat during the case, just this once –“

Another nudge.

He playfully rolled his eyes at Endeavour, who grinned.

Well, Peter would say this – he preferred this to that weird version of Endeavour they’d seen when the Veil between the world had played up a bit.

Really someone called Morse with no friends and family. How strange it had been. Luckily, with Endeavour (occasionally with his help) already having put quite a bit of work in, the Veil had soon stabilized.

“Ah, there you are, son” DI Thursday called out, stepping out of his office. “Any news?”

“It looks like the Bill of Rights of Magic Users will pass –“

Another nudge.

This time, Peter nudged back, if only in celebration of the good news.


End file.
